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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866292">we are not shining stars</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck'>wordstruck</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu one-shots) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(angst of the introspective kind that is), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Character Study, Falling In Love, Introspection, M/M, Miya Osamu cameos, Pining, Pining Atsumu, Road Trips</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:21:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,969</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866292</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordstruck/pseuds/wordstruck</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I wanna see the Shinhotaka Ropeway,” Atsumu explains, as if this is a reasonable explanation for dragging your professional-volleyball-playing teammate out on an impromptu eight-hour road trip to a tourist attraction six hundred kilometers away. </p><p>“Uh huh.” Osamu pauses. Atsumu can hear his twin silently contemplating various reasons for Atsumu’s continued existence. “Is Sakusa-kun your hostage?”</p><p>“He wants ta see the Shinhotaka Ropeway too.” (This is a blatant lie.)</p><p> <br/>(Ten days after they lose to the Schweiden Adlers, Atsumu knocks on Sakusa Kiyoomi's door and invites him on a road trip.)</p><p>(Need not read other series works.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>flutterbird (a collection of sakuatsu one-shots) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643680</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>112</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>we are not shining stars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>why am i here. how did i get here. what siren call possessed me to dive headfirst into this ship and create some ten thousand words in the span of a week. i don't even know what sakusa kiyoomi actually sounds like.</p><p>ruminations aside, i got stuck on the idea of sakusa and atsumu on a road trip and fretted for a couple of days over WHY that would even happen before having a Revelation at 2pm in my bathroom. special shoutout to <a href="https://twitter.com/metaandpotatoes">@metaandpotatoes</a> for suggesting the shinhotaka ropeway bc it ended up being the perfect setting.</p><p>i'm just gonna toss this out here tonight then edit it in the morning, then post about it on twitter in the evening. i really hope it forms a coherent story?? there is an experience i'm trying to encapsulate here and i'm worried it might read a bit of a mess. if it makes you at all feel like the song "carry on" by fun., i've achieved something.</p><p>anyway i hope you guys like it!! also no you don't need to read the other fics in the series. go forth and introspect with me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>Atsumu gets the brilliant idea to visit the Shinhotaka Ropeway about ten days after their last volleyball match.</p><p>He’s still trying not to think about the abrupt end to their season following elimination in the V.League winners stage. It’s unsurprising, Atsumu knows. They’d squeaked into the postseason by the finest of margins. He fully expects either the Schweiden Adlers or the SK Lightning to win the whole tournament, not that he’d ever admit the first part out loud.</p><p>Bokuto, of course, is cranky that he’d lost, but Bokuto is always loud about how he hates losing. He perks up five days later when he leaves to see Akaashi in Tokyo. In the days leading up to that, Hinata listens in rapt attention to how the man plans to surprise Akaashi. Atsumu, meanwhile, tunes out half of it and privately thinks Akaashi will spontaneously implode when Bokuto shows up to ruin his schedule.</p><p>Sakusa disappears into his apartment, presumably to deep clean its every surface.</p><p>When Hinata leaves to visit his family in Yukigaoka, Atsumu finds himself stuck with Osamu in their tiny apartment. The one across theirs, belonging to Sunshine 1 and Sunshine 2, is quiet for the first time in months. Most of the other Black Jackals have trickled out of Sendai, going home or on vacation.</p><p>(Sakusa stays too, although Atsumu isn’t privy to why.)</p><p>Back when he’d been eight years old and impressionable, small Atsumu had read about the ropeway in one of his mother’s magazines. He doesn’t know why his child-self had fixated on it so much — it’s only the third-highest peak in Japan — plus it’s <em> eight hours away </em>from Sendai, but.</p><p>Atsumu now has too much time, and an unused driver’s license, and a lingering memory of a failed setter tip that tastes like burnt bread at the back of his throat.</p><p>Ten days after they lose to the Schweiden Adlers, Atsumu knocks on Sakusa Kiyoomi’s door.</p><p> </p><p>“You want to… what,” Sakusa says — <em> says, </em>not asks. His expression is somewhere between confused and pissed off.</p><p>“See the Shinhotaka Ropeway,” Atsumu repeats. He smiles wide, just in case.</p><p>Sakusa shuts the door in his face. Atsumu has anticipated this, and slides inside before the door fully closes.</p><p>“Get <em> out </em>of my—”</p><p>“Omi-kun,” Atsumu drawls, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya leave Sendai since ya made the team.”</p><p>“We leave Sendai every time we have an away game.”</p><p>“Y’know what I mean.” Atsumu sighs. “Look, just — I got a license and a car, s’ a nice drive. Get ya outta this place for once.”</p><p>“Make Osamu-kun go.” Sakusa looks three seconds away from throwing something, which is his default mood around Atsumu half the time.</p><p>“I can go pack for ya,” Atsumu suggests, ignoring the suggestion entirely. “Ya wear the same six outfits all the time anyway—”</p><p>“Don’t you <em> dare.</em>”</p><p>“Where’s your bag—”</p><p>“<em>No.</em>” Sakusa doesn’t touch him, but it’s a near thing. He’s glaring now, dropping his gaze from Atsumu’s face briefly to look down and—</p><p>(Atsumu’s hands aren’t trembling, they’re not.)</p><p>Sakusa looks at Atsumu, then at the wall, then at the ceiling. His hair is a little longer now, curling by his ears. Atsumu has always wondered if it’s as soft as it looks.</p><p>“Does it even <em> matter</em>,” the other man finally says, heaving a sigh.</p><p>There’s a pause. Sakusa stares at his doorknob. Atsumu stares at Sakusa’s hands. </p><p>“Kinda,” he finally answers, the closest he’ll allow to honesty.</p><p>This time Sakusa <em> does </em>reach out to touch him, spinning him around by the shoulder and shoving him towards the entrance. </p><p>“Go away now,” he says, and shuts the door.</p><p>“We’re leavin’ at six!” Atsumu calls through the woodwork.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu is usually awake at six in the morning, already leaving for work, but Sundays are his days off. Atsumu picks his way through the quiet apartment with a duffle bag and his twin’s sunglasses. The living room is hazy in the after-dawn, the outside world still hushed.</p><p>Atsumu steals a container of onigiri from their fridge. He scrawls a smiley face on a sticky note from the helpful stack they keep on the kitchen counter. He needs to lift the door up a bit so it closes silently.</p><p>He is, admittedly, only ten-percent hopeful about Sakusa coming along. The door at the end of the hall stays closed as he makes his way to the stairs.</p><p>Sakusa is standing on the sidewalk outside their building, scowling in the early-morning cold. He looks ready to commit murder at this ungodly hour. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder.</p><p>“This car better be fucking clean,” he grumbles, and Atsumu actually snorts.</p><p>“S’ a rental,” he answers, and tips his head in the direction of the shop. “C’mon.”</p><p> </p><p>Watching Sakusa settle into the car is pretty fucking hilarious, it turns out. Despite making the rental shop swear up and down that the car is newly-sanitized, Sakusa still wipes down the door handle and armrest. He hunches up in the passenger seat like he’s trying to shrink into the passenger seat. He also can’t drive.</p><p>“S’ that why ya don’t go anywhere?” Atsumu asks, genuinely curious.</p><p>“Just fucking go,” Sakusa snaps, muffled behind his face mask and scarf.</p><p>“Yessir.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu calls a little over an hour into their drive.</p><p>“Where the fuck’re you?” his twin asks, sounding absolutely bewildered.</p><p>“Uh.” They’ve stopped at an inn because Sakusa absolutely refuses to use a gas station bathroom. Atsumu looks around. “Nihonmatsu. Near Kasumigajo Castle Park.”</p><p>Osamu hangs up.</p><p>Atsumu counts all the red cars that pass by. He gets to five before his twin calls back.</p><p>“Come again?” Osamu asks, and he actually sounds reasonably calm, which is a nice surprise.</p><p>“I wanna see the Shinhotaka Ropeway,” Atsumu explains, as if this is a reasonable explanation for dragging your professional-volleyball-playing teammate out on an impromptu eight-hour road trip to a tourist attraction six hundred kilometers away. </p><p>“Uh huh.” Osamu pauses. Atsumu can hear his twin silently contemplating various reasons for Atsumu’s continued existence. “Is Sakusa-kun your hostage?”</p><p>“He wants ta see the Shinhotaka Ropeway too.” (This is a blatant lie.)</p><p>“Has he tried t’ kill ya yet? Tell ‘im I can pay bail.”</p><p>“Oh Omi-kun’s back.” Atsumu smiles when he sees Sakusa walking back to the car. Sakusa scowls in response. “Gotta go, see ya!”</p><p>He ends the call before Osamu can respond.</p><p>“Ready to go?”</p><p>“No,” Sakusa says flatly, then gets into his seat.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu leaves a message on his phone that reads <em> if you mysteriously die I will not attend your funeral.  </em></p><p>Atsumu thinks this is a fair deal, and sends back six different kaomojis. Predictably, he gets no response.</p><p> </p><p>If he’s honest — really, bone-deep honest, in a way he so rarely is off a volleyball court — Atsumu knows why he wants to make this trip. He knows he’s using a childhood fixation with the ropeway as an excuse. He knows why he’d asked Sakusa and not Osamu; knows why he’d chosen to drive instead of taking the trains. </p><p>Revelation is different, when you’re older. Reality had checked Atsumu hard at age twenty, when he’d been breaking into the pro league. It feels like a slow, downward spiral had started when he had to watch Kageyama in Rio from a crappy television in Sendai. Atsumu has no idea if, when, and where it will end.</p><p>Realistically, he’d known there are excellent volleyball players all over Japan. There are twelve roster spots on an Olympic volleyball team. There are slow-blooming splinters between his ribs and his lungs.</p><p>He can acknowledge that now at age twenty-three, driving along the Ban-etsu Expressway with his high-school-rival-turned-teammate in the passenger seat.</p><p>Atsumu doesn’t know why Sakusa had come along and he’s a little afraid to ask. There is a tiny portion of his mind that’s convinced Sakusa will take off at the next pit stop and brave a train back to Sendai. They haven’t even really talked; the other man just stares out the window, while Atsumu hums along to the music he’s playing from his phone. If Sakusa has any thoughts on Stereopony, he’s keeping them to himself.</p><p>Atsumu doesn’t know how Sakusa feels about not making it to the national team.</p><p>He doesn’t know how Sakusa would react if Atsumu told him that his hands make Atsumu think of bird wings and breaking.</p><p>This is why Atsumu is rarely honest, really.</p><p> </p><p>(There is a slow, downward spiral that began when Atsumu had said <em> lemme toss for ya, Omi-kun </em>and ends with Atsumu’s heart in his throat. It ends in a carefully-cleaned travel blanket and spare coat in his bag, in three different packs of wipes in three different spots of this car. It ends here where Atsumu sits in some of the longest silence he’s known in his life, but if Sakusa won’t talk then Atsumu won’t press.</p><p>Sakusa dozes against the window. Atsumu drives.)</p><p> </p><p>They get breakfast in the first Pronto they come across in Fukushima. Atsumu has no idea when he’d learned that Sakusa likes hazelnut lattes but he buys one along with his cappuccino. He takes their orders to where Sakusa is seated in a far corner, wiping down the table.</p><p>“Here,” he says, passing over the travel tumbler he’d brought along for drinks.</p><p>Sakusa stares at the tumbler, then at Atsumu.</p><p>“'S’ not poisoned,” Atsumu adds defensively. He withholds Sakusa’s pre-packaged croissant until the other man stops looking so—</p><p>(No, it’s not suspicion. Even with his face mask down, the furrow in Sakusa’s brow is hard to read. His soft-wing fingers hover over the tumbler in hesitation.)</p><p>“No, I guess you wouldn’t poison me on a road trip,” Sakusa muses. Somehow he makes eleven words contain multiple implications.</p><p>(His fingers close around the tumbler, tugging it towards his chest.)</p><p>“Hang on,” Atsumu starts, frowning as he turns those words over. “The hell is that supposed ta even mean—”</p><p> </p><p>When they get back to the car, the tension along the latitude of Sakusa’s shoulders has eased.</p><p> </p><p><em> Are you dead, </em>Osamu texts a little after breakfast.</p><p><em> Yes, </em>Atsumu texts back.</p><p>
  <em> Okay good. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna take a nap,” Sakusa announces somewhere around Nozawa.</p><p>“Need a blanket?” Atsumu asks, glancing to his left.</p><p>“That depends,” Sakusa replies, “on the blanket.”</p><p>Atsumu raises an eyebrow, then nods towards the back seat. “Travel blanket in my bag, and <em> yes,</em>” he adds, before Sakusa can open his mouth, “s’ clean.”</p><p>He doesn’t need to look; Sakusa radiates skepticism as he twists around and fumbles for the bag that isn’t his. There is, indeed, a wadded-up travel blanket that technically folds into a pillow, but Atsumu hadn’t bothered when he’d pulled it from the wash last night. It must pass muster, because Sakusa curls up under it, tucking his head on his own folded jacket. Atsumu turns down the radio.</p><p>Outside, the world passes them by.</p><p>Revelation is different, when you’re older. Atsumu at six years old had had his foundations shocked by learning that not everyone in the world had another version of them growing up beside them, stealing toys and sharing hurts. Atsumu at seventeen had learned he was not the best setter in high school volleyball. Atsumu at twenty-three looks at Sakusa Kiyoomi falling asleep by barely-perceptible degrees in the passenger seat and thinks</p><p><em>          yeah, </em><br/>
              <em> I know.  </em></p><p>It’s been a revelation both slow-blooming and a long time coming. Atsumu had probably set himself on this path when they’d both been fifteen on a volleyball court<em>. </em>He’s just never admitted it out loud, because then no one can ever accuse him of wanting Sakusa and no one can sentence him to doomed heartbreak. It’s the perfect alibi; Your Honor, the defense is innocent.</p><p>The problem with being in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi is this: Atsumu doesn’t do love by half-measures, while Sakusa holds half of the world and himself at arm’s length. The problem is that Atsumu has no soft edges, no gentleness.</p><p>(He thinks back to their freshman year, when he’d looked at Sakusa’s wrists, when he’d thought about putting his own hands around them to snap them in pieces.)</p><p>Even now, Atsumu knows well the urge to connect the little marks on Sakusa’s skin, make a crack he can fill with gold like a conqueror of stolen land. But also: Sakusa would never let him.</p><p>This is why they’re driving instead of taking the train. At least Atsumu can look at the road, and not at the way Sakusa’s hands open-close in his lap, fingers shifting like wings.</p><p> </p><p>When Sakusa struggles awake, the left side of his hair is smushed up like a bird’s nest and Atsumu nearly swerves into the next lane in a laughing fit. He says nothing about the static crackling under his skin. He doesn’t try and see if the color high on Sakusa’s cheeks will smudge away.</p><p> </p><p>Three-odd hours into their drive finds them near Niigata. Sakusa looks out the window and says, casually, “I’ve never actually seen the ocean before.”</p><p>Atsumu actually takes his eyes off the road to stare. “What?”</p><p>“There aren’t any actual beaches in Tokyo,” Sakusa points out with exaggerated patience.</p><p>“Yeah, but—” Atsumu frowns. Sakusa cocks an eyebrow. “Huh.”</p><p>They lapse into silence, then Atsumu turns down the radio.</p><p>“D’ya wanna?” he asks, eyes firmly on the expressway.</p><p>“Wanna what, go to the beach?”</p><p>“Nah, d’ya wanna marry a turtle.”</p><p>“I — what?” Sakusa seems genuinely thrown off, which Atsumu counts as a win.</p><p>“Yes, Omi-kun. D’ya wanna go to the beach.”</p><p>(This is veering into dangerous territory, Atsumu knows. It’s already one thing to have Sakusa in the car on this unexplained trip. Granted, he hadn’t had a plan for this beyond ‘drive to Takayama and take the ropeway to the top’, but so far everything they’ve done has fallen within that purview. Breakfast is fine. Pit stops are fine. Taking the time to stop at a beach, though.)</p><p>Atsumu makes a left onto the Hokurikudo, and Sakusa exhales all the air from his lungs. </p><p>The spilled light of the mid-morning turns parts of the Sea of Japan into gold. Sado Island sits before the horizon. And further still, the water stretches far and away, past the edges of the small worlds of two young adults.</p><p>Sakusa never actually answers Atsumu’s question, but the expression on his face says it all.</p><p> </p><p>(There is a moment where Sakusa leans forward, craning his head to look out the window, and the borders of his personal space infringe on Atsumu’s own. Atsumu has to make a conscious effort to keep looking forward, keep watching the road, but in his peripheral vision—</p><p>Sakusa’s eyes are wide. Somewhere along the drive he’d pushed his mask down, so Atsumu can see the way his mouth parts on a breath. He’s never noticed before but there’s another little beauty mark just under the other man’s jaw.</p><p>Sakusa keeps staring out at the ocean and Atsumu keeps trying not to think about how if he just turned his head, it wouldn’t be that hard to steal a kiss.)</p><p> </p><p>They hit the coastal part of the expressway around Kashiwazaki. Atsumu makes a detour so they can stop for gas. They go look for a nearby hotel. While Sakusa uses the bathroom, Atsumu wanders to a nearby convenience store to stretch his legs.</p><p>He comes back with a can of peach tea and a paper bag. He passes the drink to Sakusa along with a napkin, then tosses the bag into the back seat.</p><p>“Ya owe me two-fifty yen,” Atsumu says while clipping on his seatbelt.</p><p>Sakusa holds the napkin over the can for a long moment, then wipes down the lid. There’s a blink-and-miss-it twitch at the corner of his mouth. When he glances at Atsumu, the edges of his expression are almost soft.</p><p>“Fine,” he replies. He doesn’t say anything else, just drinks. Atsumu gets them back on the road.</p><p>An hour later, they reach Itoigawa. Sakusa looks up when Atsumu turns off the expressway, pulling into the Oyashirazu Pier Park. He parks the car, then reaches back for his scarf and the paper bag he’d chucked there earlier.</p><p>“C’mon,” he says, waggling his eyebrows at the other man.</p><p>“Why?” Sakusa answers, narrowing his gaze. He probably means to look skeptical, but considering the left side of his hair is still slightly rumpled and he’s got creases down one cheek, he just looks ridiculous. Atsumu grins foxkill.</p><p>“Jeez, d’ya always need a reason for stuff?” he points out, then opens his door.</p><p>He’s five steps from the car when he hears Sakusa follow.</p><p>There is absolutely no one along the beach, given that it is the middle of the day and of April. Atsumu drapes his scarf loosely around his neck as he walks. When he turns to look, he finds a little Sakusa-burrito trundling along behind him.</p><p>“Ya could use a couple’a more layers, I reckon,” he snickers, and Sakusa flips him off.</p><p>“The fuck are we even doing,” the other man grumbles, scowling down at where the cement ends and sand begins. Or at least, Atsumu thinks that’s what he says. It’s all a little muffled, but he knows Sakusa well enough to guess.</p><p>“C’mere,” he says, waving Sakusa over. And then — “Oh hang on, here, use these.”</p><p>He passes the paper bag over, which contains a pair of plastic shoe covers that he’d bought at the convenience store a while back. Sakusa blinks at them, ripping open the packaging and shaking them out. Once he’s gotten them on, he warily steps out to join Atsumu on the shore.</p><p>It’s 16-fucking-degrees out, but Atsumu still jogs over to the edge of the sand and sticks his hands into the incoming waves. It’s cold enough to make him screech, then laugh, shaking his fingers violently. Sakusa watches him in consternation, leaning out of projectile range.</p><p>“Fish pee in that water,” he points out, and Atsumu just laughs harder.</p><p>There is absolutely no one along the beach, which just makes it feel like an extension of the car — a little bubble of peace away from the world. Atsumu leans back and whoops loudly into the early spring afternoon. The blue-grey of the sea stretches out and out and out, like they’re at the end of all oceans, and here it doesn’t feel like they’ve lost their entire season. Here it doesn’t feel like he’s playing catch-up. Here it doesn’t feel like he’ll never catch up.</p><p>Here, Sakusa Kiyoomi does not feel so far away, even if he lives just three doors down the hall.</p><p>(Here, Atsumu can still pretend he can be everything the world promised.)</p><p>Sakusa gingerly picks his way over to where Atsumu’s standing and looks out over the open water. The ocean breeze is tangling his hair up. Atsumu desperately wants to touch him.</p><p>Perhaps Kita is right and the gods are always watching, and being in love Sakusa is the perfect culmination of divine retribution.</p><p>“I think,” Sakusa says, “I get it.”</p><p>Atsumu risks dunking his hands into the water again and flinches. “Get what?”</p><p>Sakusa gestures with one soft-wing finger, encompassing the ocean and Atsumu and the car in the parking lot. “This.”</p><p>That gets Atsumu to pause a little, half-bent over the soft-lapping waves. “Do ya,” he muses, but it’s rhetorical. Sakusa just shrugs and squints out to the horizon. After a moment, Atsumu straightens and looks out with him.</p><p>“So,” he asks, “what d’ya think?”</p><p>Sakusa hums, then waves a gloved hand.</p><p>“It’s a fuck load of water,” he deadpans, and Atsumu cracks up.</p><p> </p><p>When they get back to the car, the cuffs of Atsumu’s jeans are damp with freezing water and he thinks his toes are blue in his shoes. Sakusa is decidedly unsympathetic. They bicker over where they should stop for lunch, over whether Atsumu should stop dyeing his hair, over their favorite anime. It is, by and far, the liveliest that Atsumu has ever seen Sakusa, and the most talkative. It’s not Bokuto Koutaro-levels of mile-a-minute speech, but.</p><p>“Your taste in favorite characters sucks,” Sakusa tells him flatly, and Atsumu scoffs.</p><p>(Maybe this is what it takes to disprove the theory of an ever-expanding universe: a fixed point called Sakusa Kiyoomi in the passenger seat of a car, two feet away from the fixed point in Atsumu’s heart.)</p><p> </p><p>The urban landscape resumes when they reach Toyama. They’ve made pretty good time, all in all; it’s just approaching one in the afternoon. Sakusa has dozed off again, occasionally murmuring indecipherable things. The vehicular congestion builds the closer they get to the city center, which is not a fun change of pace after the free run on the expressway. Atsumu does his best to swear quietly.</p><p>Turning onto Route 41 and leaving half the traffic behind is a blessing.</p><p>In the distance, the snow-capped Hotake mountain range looms large. Atsumu stares out at them and tries to remember how he’d felt at eight years old, wide eyes scanning the glossy magazine pages. He’d tried to convince their parents to take him and Osamu there for their upcoming birthday, but Osamu had wanted to go to the beach. Their stepfather had sided with his twin, and after that, all of Atsumu’s birthday gifts revolved around volleyball.</p><p>Atsumu shakes his head and reaches across the center console.</p><p>“Omi-kun,” he says, tapping Sakusa lightly on the shoulder. “Oi. Omi-kun. Get up.”</p><p>Sakusa startles awake like a bullet, and only Atsumu’s sharp reflexes save his wrist from the other man’s grip and prevent them from swerving. He leans away slightly as a precaution.</p><p>“Whathefuck,” Sakusa mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his cheek.</p><p>Atsumu eyes him warily, then points out the windshield. “Look.”</p><p>Sakusa does look, and his eyes widen as he follows the mountain range to where it disappears northward. “That it?” he asks. Atsumu smirks.</p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>“Huh.” Sakusa cocks his head. “That’s a fuck load of mountain.”</p><p>Atsumu snorts so hard he coughs.</p><p> </p><p>There is a text from Osamu when they arrive at Nabedaira Kogen.</p><p><em> Schweiden Adlers in four, </em>it reads. There’s no reply.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a sizable crowd at the rest stop, which Atsumu had expected but finds no more pleasant. He leaves Sakusa to go buy their ropeway tickets and comes back with pink cheeks. It’s fucking freezing out despite it being April, but thankfully that means there’s still snow.</p><p>“They’re closin’ in two hours, move your ass,” he says, when Sakusa finally rolls down the passenger seat window.</p><p>“It’s like Antarctica out there, I’m not moving,” the other man counters, rolling the window back up. They have a staring contest through the glass. Atsumu has had a lifetime of battles of wills with a twin.</p><p>“I’m gonna push you down the slope,” Sakusa mutters, stepping out of the car. He immediately curls into himself, arms hugging his ribcage and face tucking further into his scarf. Atsumu opens the rear door and tugs something out of his bag.</p><p>“Didn’tcha look up the weather before we left?” he asks, turning back to Sakusa. “Here, jeez, I ain’t gonna be responsible for your arms freezin’ off.” </p><p>“Is that Osamu-kun’s coat,” Sakusa replies. His tone is vaguely accusatory. </p><p>“I had it dry-cleaned,” Atsumu tells him. “Just wear it.”</p><p>They have another stare-off. </p><p>Sakusa puts on the coat.</p><p> </p><p>Somewhere in the middle of finding the starting point of the ropeway, Atsumu feels the first pangs of regret. Sakusa looks supremely uncomfortable, all hunched up and covered in a dozen layers. There’s no real way to avoid the crowd, despite their best efforts to navigate around people and objects. People jostle them constantly and the ropeway cars will be packed and Atsumu is the only one who actually wants to do this.</p><p>He turns to the other boy with a slight grimace. “Sorry, ya can just—” Atsumu clears his throat. “D’ya wanna wait in the car or—”</p><p>Sakusa cuts him off with an irritable look. “I’m here, aren’t I?” he mutters, shoving his hands into the coat pockets, and Atsumu—</p><p>(Revelation is different, when you’re older. The revelations that do hit hard, they shake you down to your bones.)</p><p>“Where the fuck even is the — what did you even wanna do here?” Sakusa grumbles, glaring in the sunlight. He’s cranky from an unrestful nap in a car and too many people around them. His expression is scrunched up under his face mask. His hair is flattened on one side. They’re both still probably a little underdressed for single-degree weather.</p><p>And Sakusa is here, isn’t he? This situation is probably a collection of too many things he hates, but he’s here. Because Atsumu had asked; because Atsumu had knocked on his door at nine in the evening last night. Because Atsumu had needed to get as far away from volleyball as he could, just for a day, and he hadn’t wanted to do that alone.</p><p>Because Sakusa gets it.</p><p>Only Sakusa can make <em> I’m here, aren’t I </em> sound like <em> you fucking moron, I like you too.  </em></p><p>Thankfully they’re both wearing gloves, so Atsumu can reach out and tug Sakusa along by the wrist.</p><p>“Ropeway’s over here,” he says, heading for the departure station.</p><p>Grumpily, Sakusa follows.</p><p> </p><p>The Shinhotaka Ropeway terminates at an observation deck about 2150 meters above sea level. From there, it opens up to a spectacular view of the Hotake mountain range, including Oku-Hotaka Dake. Staring at the snow-capped peaks, Atsumu inhales cold air and lets it settle in splinters and ice in his lungs.</p><p>“This is actually nice,” Sakusa comments beside him. He actually has his phone out, taking a photo of the valley sprawled miles beneath their feet.</p><p>The splinters climb up Atsumu’s throat, turning his voice breakable as he says, “S’ fucking fantastic.”</p><p>If Sakusa notices the cracks, he doesn’t say anything, which is a comfort.</p><p>Atsumu looks at the late afternoon skyline stretched out before him and gives into the brittleness of his bones, just a little. He is not what the world promised he would be, back when he’d been sixteen and doused in the lights of high school volleyball’s biggest stage. He is not the best setter in the world or in Japan; he’s not even the best setter in Miyagi. He is twenty-three and halfway to accepting he might never leave the Kamei Arena court.</p><p>Eleven days after they lose to the Schweiden Adlers and Kageyama Tobio, Atsumu stands at what feels like the edge of the world and takes a deep breath.</p><p>“<em>FUCK,</em>” he screams into the void, shocking everyone around them. Several people look affronted. One woman covers her child’s ears and glares. Sakusa makes a weird, smothered noise, then doubles over and — laughs.</p><p>Sakusa Kiyoomi has the most graceless, snort-hiccup laugh. Atsumu loves it with every beat of his stupid, mangled heart.</p><p>“You’re a fucking idiot,” Sakusa says, when he regains composure.</p><p>“Nah I ain’t,” Atsumu retorts, but he’s grinning along all the same.</p><p>“I don’t know this man,” Sakusa continues, shuffling away from Atsumu and looking pointedly at the sky. “I got no idea who he is or why he’s beside me.”</p><p>“I’mma leave you right fuckin’ here,” Atsumu threatens. Sakusa smacks his shoulder with a force normally reserved for a service ace. “Fuckin’ <em> ow</em>—”</p><p>“You’re a dick,” Sakusa says, then keeps talking over Atsumu’s loud squawking noise. “You’re a dick and you’re too fucking cocky and you think you can pull off whatever you want on the court because it’s you doing it. Your new haircut looks stupid. You’re gonna make Osamu go actually grey by thirty.”</p><p>“This ain’t fuckin’ necessary—”</p><p>“I get it,” Sakusa says again. He looks back out over the never-ending mountain range. “I hated it too.”</p><p>Atsumu watches Sakusa watch the wind rustle the valley trees. All the way up here, even in bleak April, he’s rose and gold under the sunlight the way he never is on a volleyball court. This is the point, 2150 meters above sea level and 572 kilometers away from their tiny apartments in Sendai, where the downward spiral ends. Here, where Sakusa has his gloved hand tucked in Atsumu’s pocket.</p><p>Here, in the aftermath of defeat.</p><p>“Hey Atsumu.”</p><p>He tears his gaze back to Sakusa and raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”</p><p>“Can we go? Feels like I’m getting frostbite.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>[ art by @<a href="https://twitter.com/peachymochiart">peachymochiart</a> on twitter! ]</p><p> </p><p>The drive back to Sendai is quiet. Somewhere around Takasaki, Sakusa floats the suggestion of staying the night, but Atsumu turns it down. He doesn’t want this little trip to end, admittedly, but he also does want to crawl into his own futon and sleep in until noon. He wants to wake up to three pieces of onigiri on a plate on the counter. He wants to be home.</p><p>They’re driving through Tochigi when Sakusa hums softly and turns his head.</p><p>“Thanks,” he says softly, “for bringing me.”</p><p>Atsumu’s fingers tap along to the quiet music from the speakers. He smiles.</p><p>“Sure was a fuck load o’ mountain, huh?”</p><p>Sakusa huffs under his breath. “Yeah.”</p><p>“Made for a great Instagram shot.”</p><p>“Mmn.” Sakusa makes a considering noise. “Bokuto and Hinata are gonna hate us for going.”</p><p>Atsumu looks at him askance. “Ya think I’m gonna put myself through drivin’ with those two in the car?”</p><p>“Well—” Sakusa pauses. “No, yeah, okay.”</p><p>The quiet settles back between them. Atsumu glances over at Sakusa and finds him blinking sleepily, city lights flashing over his face. He reaches out and turns up the heater.</p><p>“Go t’ sleep,” he says. “I’ll wake ya up when we’re home.”</p><p>Sakusa doesn’t need to be told twice; he settles back under the travel blanket and leans his head on the window. Atsumu sneaks a couple of glances over at him, then turns his attention back to the road.</p><p>The world passes them by, and he drives on.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you for reading!! any comments are appreciated (srsly. even keysmashes. i am a baby cactus) ;A; also come find me peddling sakuatsu content amid many other fandoms and ships on twitter as <a href="https://twitter.com/redluxite">@redluxite</a>. you can check there for ways to support my writing ^__^</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
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